


One Panem

by Alliswell



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: AO3 Prompt!, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Capitol!Peeta, F/M, First Time, In Panem AU, Mail Order Brides, Still have not decided if this will be angsty, tiny age difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-06-05 23:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15181772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliswell/pseuds/Alliswell
Summary: Based on the Prompt:“How about this: Peeta, a capiltolite, is made to marry Katniss, a girl from 12’s Seam, as part of the ‘One Panem’ initiative.”By freddyfreak1999.





	1. Introducing Miss Katniss Everdeen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freddyfreak1999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddyfreak1999/gifts).



> The Characters and Locations recognazible from THG belongs to Suzanne Collins. 
> 
> This is a work of fan fiction, for which I perceived no financial gain.
> 
> This story has not been beta. All mistakes are mine.

The bride train is the fanciest place I’ve set foot on in all the 19 years of my life. I was astonished looking over the beautiful crystal chandeliers barely clinking together despite the 250 miles per hour speeds the train travels at; my eyes fell on the polished tables and fluffy cushions of the chairs in front of me. The carpet under my soles looks spongy and my feet sink slightly every time I take a step. I’ve been having to control the urge to fling my shoes away and step barefoot on the floor to test just how soft the carpet is.

An attendant steps forward, guiding me through the train to my appointed quarters: a bedroom with an attached bathroom and changing room. I’m supposed to meet a stylist and prep team, so I’m Capitol ready before my arrival first thing in the morning tomorrow.

According to matchmaker and escort, Effie Trinket, I “couldn’t very well meet my husband looking like a savage plucked straight from the fields.” Never mind my District’s industry is still coal mining, and we really only have a scruffy patch of land called the meadow as our only field.

I feel sick to my stomach immediately. I’ve managed to almost forget the reason I’m on board this lavished machine. I’m a District Bride, being shipped to the Capitol to her groom as part of the One Panem Initiative, implemented at the fall of President Snow’s regime of terror, three years ago.

The initiative came after the Hunger Games were abolished by the new government, under the slogan “One Panem For All, By All”. It was meant to promote unity and integration. It was also supposed to open doors to higher education and inter district cooperation equally for all, regardless of origin, which was all good in paper, but when Capitol citizens opposed to the initiative, citing it to be lopsided and only benefiting the districts, things turned ugly.

The initiative became mandatory, which is never good a thing when you’re supposed to be advocating for freedom and equality; where’s the difference between the tyrannical style of Snow and his predecessors and the new government?

It’s the same oppressive leadership, just with different rules.

Instead of having a pageant where children fight each other to the death, we now had inter district and Capitol citizens entering government sanctioned arranged marriages. Granted, some of the brides and grooms volunteer, but those are usually district dwellers with nothing else to lose and everything to gain. In my case, my groom was ordered by some Capitol higher up, to marry a bride out of a pool of genetically compatible candidates, and I was cherry picked because according to some medical exams, our future offspring will have the best odds of coming out genetically perfect.

I’ve never been this angry and outraged in my life.

Because of the Games, I never wanted to have children; I fear a broken heart, more than anything in my life and after witnessing how broken my mother’s spirit and mind were when my father died in a mining accident, I swore to myself I’d never marry; I wouldn’t allowed myself to fall in love, or even entertain the idea of children and a family, but now I’m being forced to marry so I can have perfect children! My choice stripped from me.

While President Snow was in power, we were little much more than indentured hand labor for the Capitol; but who to marry, or to remain single, was one freedom we had in districts. There were incentives for people to reproduce of course— you can’t run a country of slaves if they die out— but it was still everyone’s choice to form a family.

I guess there’s one silver lining remaining in this mess. At least we don’t have to worry about losing children to the Hunger Games anymore since they got abolished. Still, the memory of my last reaping it’s too fresh in my mind for comfort. Not even the knowledge that my potential children will be born Capitol citizens takes the edge of fear to lose them away completely.

I get solace thinking that my family will benefit from my plight. My sister Primrose and our mother will relocate to the Capitol once I’m settled in, and Prim can pick any number of schools to attend. She could even be trained to be a proper doctor, something that was just a wild dream for my mother growing up.

I’m left to my own devices for an hour or so. Effie Trinket tells me I can freshen up and rest until the stylist is ready for me, so I make the best out of my alone time and try something I’ve never had the chance to do since childhood, take a nap, but sleep evades me. Nothing in this room soothes me to sleep, not the plush comforter or the fluffy pillows, not even the cup of warm milk spiced with honey, nutmeg and cinnamon do the trick.

Too soon a knock on my door announces my time alone is up, and I’m being handed over to a trio of creatures that remind me of a band of colorful birds, more than people.

The next three hours are torture! They rip every hair in my body with hot wax and strips of cloth. Then, they grease me up in at least a dozen lotions and tonics, some more pungent than others. Whatever they use on me makes my raw skin tingle, sizzle and cool all at the same time. The result is a soothing sensation too good to complain about.

They attack my hair last. They use so many products I lose count. They pull it with round fat brushes to either side, while blowing hot air on it. My mother has had this done to her in her youth. Being from the small merchant class of our district, she had access to some luxuries we really have no use for in the slums known as the Seam. That’s where she went to live when she married my father. We never had enough electricity time to waste on a frivolous thing as blow dry our hair when I was growing up. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, now that we will be living in the Capitol.

One of my preps, a plump woman with skin dyed as green as peas says enthusiastically, “You are actually pretty after digging you out of that hair and grime!”

My first impulse is to snarl at her, but there’s a knock on the door, and suddenly in comes Effie Trinket like a gust of chilly wind.

“Come, come, people, why Cinna has to come in already and do his magic! Miss Everdeen needs her sleep, so she’s refreshed and well rested in the morning. It won’t do to present Mr. Mellark with a tired looking bride, will it?!”

She takes a quick loop around me, observing the prep team’s work, gives them an approving nod, and orders them to go fetch Cinna, who’s I suspect is my stylist.

Flavius, Venia and Octavia, grumble a little under their breaths after Effie leaves the room, but when they say their goodbyes to me for the night they’re all smiles and blinking eyes.

I’m left alone for all of ten minutes, when I hear a quiet knock.

“Come in.” I say, although I doubt it’s necessary. People in charge of primping me up can come and go as they please.

A young man, dressed in black from the collar down comes in. He’s not like the preps, flamboyant and colorful, instead he’s normal looking with what I think is his natural brown curly hair, and the only giveaway he’s from the Capitol is a thin trace of gold eyeliner, which makes his brown eyes pop nicely. He could be considered attractive in district standards.

“Hello, Katniss,” He says stepping forward with his arm stretched out for me to shake his hand. “My name is Cinna. I was personally hired as your stylist by your future husband, Peeta Mellark.” He informs me with a slight smile I can’t help but return.

“Hi.” I say somewhat shyly.

It occurs to me, he’s the first person to call me and my future husband by ours names. I wonder if that’s standard for all stylists.

“I thought the state provided everything for the district spouse.” I say just a little curiously.

Cinna peers at me, and smiles sideways. “Peeta is one of the few truly wealthy people left in the Capitol. After his request for you as the lucky, blushing bride was approved, he was allowed some small concessions during the negotiation of your engagement.”

My eyebrows arch. I had no idea.

“I was under the impression he was ordered to marry a District 12 bride. I didn’t know he ‘requested’ me. I never entered myself any bridal catalogue.” I say softly.

“Peeta was… forcefully encouraged to take a district bride, yes.” Cinna responds mildly, but no further explanation is forthcoming so I remember what that old drunk, Haymitch Abernathy, District 12’s only surviving Victor, hollered at me while I was getting aboard the train:

“Don’t resist the beauty treatments, sweetheart. That’ll just piss ‘em off!” He guffawed at my discomfort so hard, he started puking behind a bush a second later. Jackass! Still, I remain quiet and compliant because as useless as Haymitch Abernathy looks when he’s skunked, he knows how things work in the Capitol.

After a while, Cinna’s soft voice cuts the companionable silence. “Let me look at you for a moment. I’ll call dinner in and we can discuss your first outfit then we can call it a night.”

He circles me without touching me, then he takes a small tablet from the pocket of his jacket and invites me to sit at the table with him.

He taps the screen of his device, ‘pulls’ and ‘tosses’ and image towards the wall; a hologram I think they called at school once appears before us. A picture of me, taken at the Justice Building the day I was summoned to collect my marriage mandate.

“Beautiful,” he smiles. “I see why Peeta stopped fighting it. You’re just lovely.”

I study Cinna somewhat mystified. I’m not lovely, in fact I look really plain in that photograph. Also, I wish he’d stopped being so elusive and just tell me everything he knows about this Peeta Mellark fellow I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life tied to.

The marriage mandate packet I received at the Justice Building, included a measly page of basic information on my future husband plus a small photograph of his profile while wearing sunglasses, worthless in my opinion. The page barely said his full name is Peeta Apollo Mellark, his age is listed as 22 which is 3 years older than me, a few descriptors such as blue for his eye color and ashy blonde for his ‘natural’ hair color; ending with his occupation of Mellark Bakeries CEO.

The accompanying picture most have been attached as an afterthought, since all his features were obscured by the angle it was taken and his eyewear. All I could discern from the picture is that his hair is dyed blue with black tips. Very Capitol. Nothing like District 12. I don’t see how can a marriage like this could ever work out. My parents married out of love and had an idyllic romance regardless of our precarious living situation. I cannot fathom what this matchup will be like.

Cinna breaks me out of my ruminations just in time to save me from a nervous breakdown, “There’s a certain elegance and exotic beauty to you. It makes you very appealing. My job is to accentuate your attributes.” I think he must be picturing something special in his mind’s eye, because I don’t see any of the things he just said about me in that photograph.

I was terrified. I thought I was being charged with illegal poaching, since that’s pretty much what I do for a living. It sounds bad when said that way. I don’t think of myself as a poacher. I just hunt for sustenance in the woods outside the District’s parameters— which granted, is a punishable crime against the Capitol— but poverty is still rampant in my district, and my options to feed my family are still slim: I can either hunt, go down into the mines and be scared of getting buried alive every second of it, or the least appealing, sell myself for coins.

I guess that last one is a moot point now.

During my time at the Justice Building I did everything in my power to look small and harmless. When the official informed me I had been carefully selected to wed a man in the Capitol, I felt worse than being charged with a crime.

“You said he stopped fighting it. Mr. Mellark, I mean. What did you mean by that?” I ask hoping for an answer that would tell me what kind of man is Peeta Mellark.

“I’m sure Peeta will tell you anything you’d like to know once you two meet. For now, let’s discuss this other image.”

Cinna taps his screen, then flicks the image that pops up onto the wall, and this picture really takes me aback and leaves me speechless for a moment.

Is me at 16, on my last reaping before Snow dropped dead on his presidential desk, leaving no appointed heir to follow his steps. What followed were months of utter chaos, until things got handled by district sympathizers.

I look so different now. A few inches taller, cheekbones higher and more pronounced, hips and waist slightly more defined by soft curves that came with the better fare the inter district trades brought on when our borders got open. I look more like a woman now, but in the picture in the wall, I look thin. Too thin. I’m in one of my mother’s good dresses from her merchant days, when she was part of the apothecary’s family. I remember the feeling I had that day I wore her fine offering. Those dresses are special to her. I guess I can repay her with even nicer clothes now.

“Who made your hair up in this picture?” Asks Cinna studying the image.

My voice is raspy when I answer. “My mother.”

“It’s beautiful. Classic. I like it!”

A twinge of pride bursts in my chest on my mother’s behalf, and it’s entirely confusing, since I haven’t felt a whole lot of fondness towards my mother in years. Or at least, I thought so. I guess I was wrong about that as well. I do love my mother, as fractured as our relationship is.

“How many outfits am I to wear?” I ask trying to distance myself from thoughts of my family.

Cinna looks at me and smiles, “Two for starters. One to get off the train, another one to meet your fiancée.”

“Oh. He’s not meeting me at the station?” I ask both relieved and curious.

Cinna quirks one perfectly styled eyebrow. “There is a protocol we were instructed to follow by One Panem directives. Peeta was unable to get around them as of yesterday. Ms. Trinket will inform you of what you’re expected to do, my job is to help you make an impression.”

“Right.” I mutter. “Don’t want Mr. Mellark to realize what a colossal mistake he made by choosing me right away.” I say dryly.

Cinna laughs, and I can’t help smiling with such a contagious sound.

“You’re very funny, Katniss. I like that. Peeta needs funny in his life.”

I scowl. I’m not funny in the least. Sure I can make my sister smile and laugh, but that’s because Purim’s the only person I’m certain I love in my whole existence. I don’t have to try hard to keep Prim in good spirits, but other people find me close off and stand-offish according to my best friend and hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne. To be honest, I like it that way.

“I’m no not funny. I’m not good at being friends. I can’t make people like me.” I say a little defensively.

Cinna just looks at me serenely, with a slight smile etched on his lips. “I like you. I’m sure Peeta saw something in those pictures he liked as well, otherwise you would’ve been pass over.”

My forehead creases. I don’t know what or how he saw me, but I can say right now. Peeta Mellark is wrong.

“Will you be offended if I ask about the outfit? I’m really tired…” Itrail off, hoping my face is helping my case.

But Cinna nods amicably, and lunges into his presentation of my first outfit. All I can do is bid my time to go to bed and pretend I’m back home, waiting for my sister to climb on our shared bed


	2. Unexpected Ride

Effie Trinket comes to rap on my door with her overly enthusiastic verb at the first light of dawn.

“Up, up, up, Katniss dear! It’s a big, big, big day for you, darling. Breakfast will be served in an hour. Don’t be late, punctuality is one of the most noble traits a person can have, and one admired in brides!”

I force my eyes open with a groan. Last night I fell into a fitful sleep as soon as my head touched the fluffy pillows of my impossibly soft bed, but I’m as exhausted as if I had been hunting the whole night. I woke up a handful of times scared and disoriented, but the motions of the train rocked me back to sleep every time; I even managed to shed a few quiet tears, since I was finally able to succumb to the sadness without worrying about my family seeing it.

I finally join Effie in the dining cart and spend all breakfast grumpy, despite my escort’s chirpy disposition. But even Effie Trinket seems to be reaching her limit of tolerance.

I wished everyone just left me alone to sulk in my misery in peace.

The shock and worry of leaving my whole life behind to marry a stranger in the Capitol just 3 days after receiving a marriage mandate, have finally caught up with me, and is becoming a chore not to lash out. The only reason I have maintained a level of civility through the meal with Effie and the trio of well-intended-insults that are my prep team, is all thanks to Cinna and his calming presence.

Cinna has been so helpful and understanding, I’ve actually grown fond of him in the little time since I met him.

But, as another clump of oatmeal sticks in my throat after yet another infuriating comment about how lucky I am to have been chosen as a District Bride, and how much my looks will improve when I get a proper buff, I catch myself actually rolling up the sleeves of my flimsy blouse.

Cinna makes up an excuse to get me out of the dining room. I’m truly grateful he tore me out of there so fast, because I’m seething. I don’t have any expectations of fitting in with the Capitolites, but I don’t think I’ll be able to take their condensation very long either.

“Have you been to the observation cart?” Cinna asks mildly.

I shake my head in response.

Cinna smiles and motions for me to follow him, as if I had any other choice. “You’re in for a treat then.”

The car’s walls and roof are made of a thick plexiglass, that allows us to see the districts swishing by. I’m enthralled with the vastness of the land, the colors of the sunrise and the changing in terrain.

“Is this better?” Cinna asks peering at me after a while.

I turn to him and smile gratefully, “Loads. Thank you!”

“My pleasure.”

We sit in companionable silence for a long while, until a thought pops into my head throwing me for a loop. “Cinna?” I gasp feeling unease. “What’s Mr. Mellark like?”

Cinna smiles, but the gesture does nothing to calm me down. He talks in his soothing tone, almost as if he knows what it is I’m afraid of.

“Peeta is a hard working man, with old school ethics and a sensible head on his shoulders.” He studies me for a moment.

Along the years, I’ve perfected the art of washing my face off any emotions I don’t want other people to be privy of. I reach for those skills right now, hoping to mask my anxiety.

“He’s nothing like Effie, Venia, Octavia or Flavius, if that makes you feel more comfortable.” Cinna says after a while, still looking into my eyes. His soft brown ones are full of understanding and something else, akin to concern. “You must think us despicable.” He says softly.

I avert my eyes, flattening my lips into a straight line. I’m not about to lie to him, but that doesn’t mean I can out right tell him that I do think Capitolites are awful. I mean, he has been nothing but helpful and nice to me. But then again, I’m pretty sure Peeta Mellark is paying him a pretty coin for his troubles.

“Look, Katniss. Peeta is a very good man whose family has made mistakes. But he’s trying to clean up his family name by becoming a better version of them. Of himself. He’s hard working, as I said, and is very committed to his family’s business. The fact that he was put into a position where he had to pluck an unsuspecting girl from her home, weights on him terribly.” Cinna pauses, making sure I’m still following.

“Don’t let his appearance fool you. He’s no bumbling, careless heir, oblivious to the disadvantages of district folks. Please. Don’t think poorly of him, even if at first he seems short and strict. It’s his way of coping with his responsibilities. Privately, he’s the nicest person you’ll ever meet.”

I’m pondering on Cinna’s words, about to form a response, but his smile widens. He brings his slim hand to nudge my shoulder so I turn from him and face the direction he’s looking at.

“Here we are. The tunnels to the Capitol.” Cinna says brightly. “Welcome to your new home, Katniss. May the odds be ever in your favor!”

I turn in time to see a 20 feet high concrete wall, that gives way to a mountain ridge. The mass of rock, vegetation and earth seems to go on forever and our train is gaining speed towards it.

I’m gripped by a nauseating anxiety attack. The mountain looms above us and suddenly we’re plunged in darkness. A small shriek escapes my mouth. I wasn’t expecting the tunnel so soon, or to be so dark. For me, being underground is the thing of nightmares! Getting buried alive inside one of the coal mines back home is still a recurring night terror of mine.

I’m shaking, but just as suddenly as we went into the tunnel, we exit it.

The sun rays bathe the observation compartment once again, and I have to blink my eyes a couple of times to adjust to the light; but, I’m outstanded by the new sight before me.

The tracks of the train circle the shore of a big, placid looking lake, and on the other side of the body of the water sits The Capitol. Shiny and colorful, like a jewel. I’m speechless.

Every year, during the Hunger Games, aerial shots of the city were shown just as the Tribute Trains arrived from the districts bringing in the unlucky souls that had to battle each other to the death. So many lost children. So many broken homes, just so the people in this rotten place could feast and celebrate with my people’s suffering as their entertainment.

Suddenly, the view loses all shine and wonder.

The Games never ended. They just mutated.

 

* * *

 

Effie Trinket siddles up next to me as we disembark the train into the overtly bright platform. She hisses instructions under her breath on how to stand like a proper lady for the Capitol onlookers, while I try my best to keep from scowling.

I’m so beyond annoyed at her nagging, that just to be contrary, I hook my left foot around my right calf and use the top of my shoe to rub my leg.

She fusses, trying to keep her cool and I pretend to be confused and act surprised when she tells me off, and start biting my fake nails and using the pinky fingernail as a toothpick.

I think I can see an angry flush under Effie’s 20 layers of makeup, but is hard to tell for sure.

“Katniss, dear, within minutes, there will be pictures of Mr. Mellark’s fiancée arriving in the Capitol in every news outlet there is! Do you really want to look like you were just plucked out from the wilderness when your likeness meets the public?” My escort snaps.

I can’t hold my tongue for some unfathomable reason, and before I can filter the words out, I’m retorting smartly, “I _was_ just plucked out from the wilderness!”

“Well, then good luck causing a first good impression on the man holding your future in his hands!” She says straightening her jacket rather violently. “If I were you, I’d think of how will my behavior impact my family’s chances to make it out here in the future.”

I guess Effie had enough of my hijinks, because she sashays away from me on her ridiculously tall magenta heels, but I’m beginning to appreciate Effie’s seemingly observing ways.

Her blistering answer does make me rethink my attitude, though. As insufferable as Effie is about manners and posture, she’s got a point about trying to ingratiate myself to my future husband. That last barb about how my behavior will either help or hinder my family’s relocation to the Capitol has me standing tall and walking with a poise I didn’t know I possessed. I don’t want to ruin Prim’s chances of getting out of 12 and have a better life.

That doesn’t stop me from rolling my eyes exaggeratedly when a swarm of colorful people start pointing cameras in our direction and Effie prompts me to smile through clenched teeth, faking a smile of her own.

I wish Cinna had come out of the train with us. I’m sure he would have found a way to keep me calm, but he told me he would have to leave through a cart in the back and go straight to my next destination, so he could prepare for my last activity of the day: my official engagement photo session and reception.

I’m bombarded with the most asinine questions imaginable: ‘ _Was I the envy of every one of my girlfriends?_ ’; ‘ _Was I relieved of being in the Capitol instead of a stinky mine?_ ’; ‘ _Was I scared I had to compete with Mr. Mellark’s other flings?’_  after all he used to date Glimmer Moore, the last ever Victor to be crowned before the Hunger Games were outlawed. 

“I wasn’t aware there was a competition with miss Moore.” I say even surprising myself with how calm and collected I sound. “Mr. Mellark made a choice. I think my presence here speaks loudly enough to answer that question.”

Effie’s smile is so big and forceful, she actually looks deranged, but before she can say anything to me or the reporters still screaming their own questions, someone chuckles loudly at the back of the crowd.

To my horror, all the cameras turn excitedly to the source of the laugh when they realize Peeta Mellark himself is the one causing the uproarious sound.

He’s wearing dark glasses and a black cap, but the twisting in my gut tells me he’s been watching me and my childish behavior since disembarking the train.

My eyes zero in on his when he takes the sunglasses off, and I shy away instantly at the intensity of his eyes, crinkling at the corners in a real smile. Of course every shouting question in the platform is now directed at him.

“ _Mister Mellark, are you excited to be receiving your wife?_ ”; “ _Mister Mellark, is it true you plan on making your fiancée sign a steep prenup? Has this been approved by One Panem Organization?_ ”; “ _Mister Mellark, will you have children right away?_ ”; “ _Mister Mellark is it true you’re planning on still seeing Glimmer behind Katniss’ back?_ ”

Peeta Mellark must be used to this level of attention, because he gives the throng a winning smile that truly is swoon worthy, and waves them off good naturedly, nodding in the direction of the train. My direction.

“Friends!” He says with an affable chuckle, “We’re here to see the beauty District 12 has to offer. Let us welcome the vivacious miss Katniss Everdeen— soon to be Mellark— to her new home!”

Then every lens turns to me with the same savageness. I’m not used to this at all. My cheeks burn, so do my neck and the tip of my ears. I’m having trouble breathing normally, and my eyes jump frantically to each shouting head in the crowd, but my mouth is sealed shut. If Effie doesn’t move us out of this cursed platform quickly, I’m going to do something stupid, like cry in front of all this people.

Suddenly, a big, strong hand wraps around my bicep and I get shifted sideways. The hand lets go of my arm to push four fingers and a thumb on the small of back, and we’re walking forward. Fast.

“Mister Mellark! This is most unusual—“ Effie pants close by, trying to keep up the pace in her stupidly tall shoes.

A very male, very deep and velvety voice answers chirply. “I bet, Ms. Trinket. I’m sure you never get this kind of circus with your other charges. It’s incredible,” he says unaffected.

I’m afraid of looking back to see the owner of the voice. His helping hand is warm and oddly reassuring on my back. I’m pretty sure both the voice and the hand belong to my future husband, and I’m not ready to meet him up close. Not when my lungs are trying to fill up with air so desperately.

Effie complains further. “I must say, not all of my charges are engaged to such high profile suitors. But that’s besides the point.” She sounds a bit more composed now, but there’s an unmistakable irritability in her voice. “The guidelines One Panem has in place for first time meet ups, says—“

“Oh yes! Nobody is above the guidelines, Ms. Trinket. Especially not me. I will adhere to your every command as soon as we’re safely away from the paparazzo.” The man chuckles. “But, to ease your mind from any misgivings, I’m not here to officially meet anyone. I just wanted to oversee that my bride had a smooth transition from the train, to the car transporting her and her escort to the remake center.”

“Oh! Well, that’s very chivalrous of you mister Mellark, there’s just the matter of One Panem never informing me you’d be here at this time? But that may be just and oversight.”

“Of course, Miss Trinket. Rest assured I did clear with One Panem my presence here today. I actually requested the organization allowed me to provide my own driver and vehicle for the occasion,” this time his voice is firm and commanding. “One can never be too careful with what we consider valuable.” The fingers resting on my back flex, and drop from my waist.

I finally find the courage to glance back at the man guiding me away from the crowd of loud gossipers. He’s looking straight ahead, though, until his very blue eyes flit to mine, catching me looking.

I think I’ve startled him though. He blinks his eyes away almost as fast, and his lips thin out. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I just surprised him by looking up at him.

I wish I could say something, but my tongue has stuck to the roof of my mouth and I can’t seem to think of anything to say anyway, so I just turn my head away from my future husband, and scowl at the ground when another set of blinding flashes go off in front of us.

“Right this way,” Peeta Mellark says softly, gesturing to our left, where the nicest, longest car I’ve ever seen in my life waits.

While I’m looking at the stretched out, shiny, black car with wide eyes and a generous heap of awe, I think this vehicle must be a real big deal, because Effie Trinket is tripping all over herself about it.

“Oh, Katniss, dear. How marvelous! Mr. Mellark pulled all the stops just for you today. A limousine! How elegant and classy!” She claps her hands girlishly.

We are standing close enough to the vehicle that I can see Peeta Mellark’s eye roll reflected on the tinted window of the car.

 _Huh_. I would’ve thought Peeta Mellark would be looking more smug about showing up here in this car just so everyone could see his wealth and power, but he looks actually annoyed by Effie’s reaction and all the attention we are getting. I want to turn my head again to take another look at him, but for reasons I can’t explain, I’m feeling shy and overwhelmed.

A man steps up and opens the car door for us.

“Thank you Jason. After you Ms. Trinket.” Peeta Mellark says politely.

Effie gives him a doleful glance, while smiling like an idiot. She climbs in gracefully, and then I have to swallow my groan, because I know I won’t be nearly as nimble as her. I don’t want to give this Capitolites any humiliating fodder.

“If you allow me to hold your hand, I promise you can slide in even faster than Ms. Trinket.” Peeta’s warm breath reaches my ear, as if reading my mind.

I look back at him startled, and his impossibly blue eyes bore into mine, searching.

How can somebody’s eyes be so vividly blue? He must have some kind of enhancers or something, because there’s no way those are his real irises.

“Thank you.” I rasp out with a nod and let him take my hand.

It surprises me how steady he is, and how steady he keeps me when I finally duck into the open door. A second later he’s safely inside as well, and the man standing by, Jason I think his name is, pushes the door closed easily. Jason jogs around the limousine and gets into the front seat, driving us away from the mob of photographers.

I can’t help but look back out the window at all the little flashes going off as our ride puts distance between us and the cameras. It’s the most bizarre thing that’s happened to me so far: total strangers calling my name, begging me to stop so they can take my picture.

Is that how my life is going to be from now on? A constant reminder that I’m not a person, but a mere commodity for the Capitol? An object to be owned and put on display to showcase someone’s wealth and power? Because right now I’m strangely aware that for all intents and purposes, I belong to this man, Peeta Mellark, as much as the ridiculously elegant car I’m seated in.

I scowl dissatisfied with my lot in life. It’d be one thing if I had volunteered for it, but that’s not what happened in this case.

“Katniss, dear, don’t worry about the press.” Effie Trinket says knowingly, “There will be plenty of them to impress later on, when we—“ she pauses abruptly and wrinkles her heavily made-up nose. “We were supposed to officially meet Mr. Mellark at the reveal and engagement party this evening. Is that being affected now?” The woman sounds dismayed as she pulls her electronic agenda out of her oversized purse and starts frantically typing on it.

I try not to rejoice in Effie’s distress, but that’s such a tall order after all she’s put me through in the last couple of days.

On the bench across from Effie, Peeta Mellark sighs, pulling my attention to him. I’m surprised to see his face is actually an impassive mask. He doesn’t look at me nor at Effie for that matter, instead, he turns to a small console-like compartment next to him, and I see him pull out a tall, skinny stem glass followed by a heavy looking green bottle.

Mother uses dark stained glass bottles for medicines that can’t be directly exposed to the sun, to preserve them better. I wonder if the same principle applies for whatever spirits Peeta Mellark’s serving in his delicate glass?

I watch the pale-golden liquid—frothy at first— give way to an explosion of bubbles that rise from the bottom when the froth turns back to liquid.

He takes the glass and clears his throat once, “Champagne, miss Trinket?”

Effie stops jamming her perfectly manicure fingers on her device and stares at the proffered drink almost with relief.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have gone to the trouble, Mr. Mellark, you are so gracious. Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness!” She gushes, finally taking the glass demurely.

She sips her drink like everything she does: annoyingly proper. And then Mr. Mellark is offering a glass to me.

“Miss, will you care for some refreshments?” He asks politely. It’s only the second thing he says directly to me, and I know we really haven’t been introduced to one another, despite Effie being a stickler for etiquette, but it kinda rubs the wrong way how distant and formal he’s treating me.

Ugh!

I want to refuse. I’ve never drank any alcohol before, and I’m not sure I can handle it without making a fool out of myself right now, but I catch Effie’s narrowed eyes watching me like a hawk, and only nod, taking the glass with a soft “Thank you.”

So much for not being so formal.

Effie comments on the subtle flavors of the drink— Champagne, they call it— and asks about years and some other nonsense I don’t quite understand. Mr. Mellark smiles softly, as he regales my escort with information and anecdotes of a wine-tasting trip he had with his brothers. I try to listen to his story, because that may shed some light into his private life, give me an inkling of who this man really is.

If he’s as close to his siblings as I am to Prim, then we’ll have something in common and we could use that as a stepping stone of sorts.

Effie laughs in all the correct places and asks questions about his experience during the trip, and I finally take my first swallow of the bubbly liquid, since I have no idea of how to participate in this conversation— not that the other two people in this car have given me any more notice— but then the conversation switches back to wine and I lose interest. I focus on the way the icy champagne goes down my throat, and I swear I can feel the bubbles rush through. I’ve never had wine before, I can’t decide if I liked it or not. 

the view outside my window captures my attention next. I’m surprised at all the candy color roofs and shiny windows the buildings in the Capitol have. There’s a big tree resembling a pine, but there’s something odd about it… as we drive closer, I realize it’s a fake. There’s a empty bench under the fake pine, the bench is pleated in gold and the wood is stained a fine dark brown. A few feet away, I see a beautiful fountain. I smile when I see children playing in it, but again once we’re closer, I realized the children are statues made out of brass.

Nothing in this place is real. Everything is fake and decorative. How am I supposed to live in here? Worse yet, do I still want Prim to come to this metal and glass window display?

Suddenly, the car doesn’t feel as spacious and comfortable anymore, even though we each are seated on a different bench. I’m feeling crowded and constricted.

I eye the small silver plank I know will open the door if I pull on. I wonder how far could I get if I jumped from this thing and run full throttle?

But the limousine is moving at very fast speeds, and I’m afraid that if I jump, I’ll hurt myself badly instead of gaining my freedom.

Suddenly, Effie’s voice pierces through the fog that unbeknownst to me, is clogging my brain. “Katniss!” She tries to keep the tartness out of her tone, but she’s failing miserably.

I look up and realize both of them are staring at me expectantly. I guess at some point one of them asked me a question I didn’t hear, lost in my own misery.

“I’m sorry. Can you say that again?” I try to sound apologetic, but I don’t do a better job than Effie at hiding her voice tone.

“What do you think of your champagne?” Effie asks in a sugary tone as fake as her magenta wig.

I try to school my face into something indifferent, but my lips won’t cooperate, sagging on the corners.

Peeta’s face breaks into a small smile. My brain stutters for a second, stuck in the word “Cute” for some reason. It’s a ludicrous word to associate with someone like Peeta Mellark. It’s doubly ludicrous coming from me, who has not one romantically inclined bone in my body.

I can’t help it, I just scowl at him!

_Oh on! That’s no good!_

But he must like it when I scowl, because he’s grinning widely at me now. Unabashedly and full of mirth.

Why is he smiling at me so much?

He leans forward and takes my glass gently, “You don’t have to drink that. I’m sorry I didn’t asked if you preferred something else before pouring it out. My mother would be appalled at my manners.”

“So would be mine.” I’m aware that what I said came out wrong as soon as it’s beyond my lips.

Effie’s eyes pop out and she starts sputtering apologies in my behalf, reminding him I just arrived from a very long trip and I must be so overwhelmed with excitement and whatever excuses she can conjure up, that I can’t be blamed for what comes out of my untrained mouth.

I interrupt Effie, hoping my explanation is enough to salvage this whole fiasco.

“I— I meant, _my_ mother would be appalled at _my_ lack of manners. I didn’t mean I thought your manners were lacking. Sorry. Sorry, Mr. Mellark.”

“See? You’ve been nothing if not accommodating, and dear Katniss agrees, like a gracious guest!” Effie provides helpfully.

But Peeta lifts a hand to stop both me and Effie rambling out explanations, there’s a crease on his forehead. When finally speaks, his voice is soft.

“It’s alright. It’s fine. I caught your meaning the first time, Miss Everdeen, and even if it was a criticism, I probably deserved it.” He says with a self-deprecating smile. “Here!” He offers me a short crystal glass with icy water. “Peace offering.”

He smiles again when I take the cup from him and chug down the contents, realizing just how thirsty I actually am.

“Thank you.” I say shyly.

“You are very welcome.” He says pouring more champagne for himself and Effie. “Alcohol isn’t for everyone. I applaud anybody who stays off of it. But in the future, Miss Everdeen, I hope you are comfortable enough to voice your preferences. I’d hate for you to feel obligated to consume food or drinks you don’t like.” He says with a small chuckle as he throws back the contents of his stem glass and serves himself another one.

All I can do is muster a weak smile and a sip from my water.

Is a moot point. He says he wants me to ‘feel comfortable enough to voice my preferences’ but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna.

Plus, drinking alcohol is one thing, but I doubt there will be many things I’d be adverse to eating, so it’s not like I’ll have many requests or complaints.

The rest of the car ride passes mostly quiet, with Effie making an effort at conversation here and there and me just staring at the opulence of the Capitol through my tinted window.

There was a man back home in 12 that collected butterflies. He used to lined them on a wooden board holding them in place with pins. Then he’d press them with a sheet of glass. I always felt bad for the bugs. They never thought that the colorful flowers they fed from were kept in a garden specifically to trap them.

I feel like I’m about to become one of those bugs. Pinned up for display in a colorful glass box.

I tell myself this is my life now, better get used to it. If that fails, think of Prim. Anything I do here will benefit her most, and since she’s the only person I’m certain I love, I’ll do my best to play my part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the comments you left on the last chapter.
> 
> The next one will be more heavily tipped into Everlark and we may even earn our M rating for adult situations. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	3. A Taste of Capitol Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you freddyfreak1999 for Proofreading this for me. 
> 
> I hope y’all enjoy it!

The Remake Center occupies the top floor of the brand new building of One Panem’s headquarters in what used to be the City Circle, and now is just a series of parks and monuments commemorating the hundreds of victims of the Hunger Games before its ban a few years back.

I can’t shake the feeling that they’re preparing me for slaughter. They may as well be. Effie Trinket carted me to a two hour ‘orientation’ meeting in the biggest, most elegantly decorated classroom I’ve ever seen, in the Bridal Wing of the Remake Center, and a big chunk of the orientation revolved around sex and childbearing, since the latter is the main objective of the One Panem proposal; produce children as genetically strong as possible, without having to resort to scientific intervention.

I’ve managed to block out thoughts of _that_ part of marriage until now, this One Panem business is causing me all sorts of anxiety. All this talk about sex and repopulation has me grinding my teeth, traumatized, overwhelmed and on the brink of hurling. To make matters worse, none of this has taught me anything useful for what’s expected of me on my wedding night tomorrow evening, or how to navigate it.

There’s a reason I never wanted to get married.

  
Too bad the well-being of Panem is costing me my long held conviction. The Hunger Games may be over, but the One Panem initiative still feels oppressive in my opinion.

I’ve never as much as kissed a boy before, let alone have any experience on the subject of romance and intimacy. I don’t count Gale’s misguided attempt at kissing me when I was 17, because though he startled me, he'd barely brushed his lips on mine before I landed a punch on his chin. My knuckles hurt like heck and Gale got angry, but he never tried to plant one on me without asking first, and he always got a no for an answer followed by my spiel on my choice of spinsterhood.

That was the beginning of the end for my friendship with Gale. But the orientation finally came to a close and I shift my thoughts from Gale to my immediate present.

Effie Trinket collects me from the meeting and chirps greetings here and there enthusiastically to every other person we pass in the hallways. Once we enter the elevator it’s just the two of us, and I try to look out the glass wall, how with every floor we climb the world beneath looks like a miniature replica of the real thing. I’m absorbed just watching everything shrink rapidly, when Effie interrupts my mindless entertainment.

“Katniss dear, tonight is going to be magical for you! Everyone who’s _any_ one in the Capitol will be there to celebrate your engagement!” She gives me a wide grin that borders on the creepy side. “Now, I know you’re a bit shy, and honestly, somewhat awkward. I’m not trying to scare you, but we have to keep you on your best behavior during the party. Remember, your reputation is not the only thing in the balance, but mine as well as your matchmaker and chaperone. Heaven’s know the wonders your match to Mr. Mellark has done for my carrer! Why they’ve already offered me a position for a better agency, with better district brides!”

I want to roll my eyes at the vapid woman. Way to make the most soul crushing day of my life about you, Effie!

But I don’t react, I’m more concerned about the fact that whatever I do here, will undoubtedly affect my mother and Prim back home, so I vow to be a perfect little district bride, meek and ready to please, just like the instructors drilled into the few brides in the Orientation class.

This Capitol men don’t want actual wives. They want exotic arm-candy to showcase how open minded and generous they are.

My stomach pitches. Capitol people make me sick, with the exception of Cinna, who’s waiting for me in my humongous penthouse suite, as Effie Trinket called it.

Cinna smiles at me as soon as he sees me enter the room, and immediately I feel myself calm down.

“I already started a bath for you.” He says softly. “The assistants will be there shortly to help you. You just relax and let them do the rest.”

It’s easy for him to say! He doesn’t have three colorful birds pecking at him from all directions, while cawing inane conversations I give up following when I realize I can care less about which celebrity just dyed their poodle’s fur magenta this season. Instead I’m doing quick math in my head about the amount of coin my family will actually need to spend in food and other things, now that I’m not there to trade game. I hope Prim learned well how to barter her goat’s cheese and milk. 

I’m stunned just at the amount tallied up in my head; I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much money together in my life, let alone have in my bare hands, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to send that and more to my mother, once Peeta Mellark approves my monthly allowance.

They spoke about that in the Orientation meeting. It's one of the few mandatory categories in a bridal contract I was actually eager to learn about and paid extra attention to during the meeting. A husband is obligated to give a monthly allowance to his district wife, so she can take care of herself and other interests she may have, like a starving family back home in my case.

I already know Peeta has set aside an account for me in the bank, and I can use the money however I please, but in the rough draft of the contract I signed, didn’t specify how much I was getting monthly, and how often. Honestly, I only lose myself in thoughts of money to avoid the chitchat of my prep team.

About hour and a half later, the preps are circling around me like a trio of vultures wearing peacock feathers; they eye me and prod me every so often, one of them is clicking a pair of tweezers obnoxiously, and then they finally deem me beautyfied enough to walk away with the promise of Cinna and late lunch. It’s another of Effie’s crazy techniques, to feed me closer to the party, so I’m not stuffing myself with food in public. I think is a bit dishonest, since the man has to see me eating for real at some point after the wedding, I can’t pretend to eat like a dainty bird for the rest of my life, not when I know what starvation pains feel like.

Cinna sits with me at the table in the dining room of the penthouse suite. He presses a few buttons on a console on the wall and a few minutes later a small feast raises up from a compartment in the middle of the table.

Chicken chunks in a creamy sauce with orange wedges over a bed of tiny pearly beads that remind me of rice, but the texture and shape is different. A tiny tomato carved into a small rose sits on top of two bay leaves on the side of the dish; and I can’t help thinking the garnish clever, yet the cynical part of me wants to mock the little decoration as unnecessary. In the back of my mind the idea that people in the Capitol has so much food they can use it for pointless art, irks me.

“We’re not all bad, you know?” Cinna says as if reading my mind.

Startled, I look at him, just to find him smiling sadly at me.

His eyes are warm, there isn’t any pity there. “Some of us are genuinely trying to make amends.” He tells me softly.

“I know. And I’m not trying to be judgmental. I just wished people in the districts had the same access to food. It’s all.”

“Well, that’s a noble wish to have, and maybe not so hard to achieve; if you learn how to tread the waters of politics. Believe it or not, there are people trying to fix the economy so everyone has a chance at a better life.”

“It would be nice if what you said becomes reality, though I’m not so sure I’d want to be in politics.” I say wrinkling my nose.

Cinna chuckles, “I guess not.” He nudges my arm playfully and then points to the food, “I suggest we eat before our feast gets cold. We have a few things to get through before the party this evening, and I promised Peeta you’d look espectacular tonight.”

My chest tightens. I had managed to forget Peeta Mellark and our impending wedding until Cinna mentioned his name. Now I’m getting anxious.

The meal goes by with Cinna trying to sooth me and instruct me on etiquette at the same time. I try to pay attention for his sake, because he has been extra nice to me the whole time, not because I’m too keen on making a great impression on this Capitol people and my groom.

I remind myself this is for Prim’s future, and that cements my will to cooperate.

Three hours later, I’m dressed in the most sumptuous red gown I’ve seen. I’m made up until the woman in the mirror is vaguely recognizable, but I think is mostly the shock of seeing how pretty I’ve become on Cinna’s hands that has me so mesmerized.

He’s left my hair down, silky and shiny, loose and brushed until I start wondering if that’s my own natural hair? Is silly, my scalp is still screeching from the raking of the hair brushes from the prep team.

“Now, I didn’t want to put you in high heels since you’ve never wore them before. I rather you don’t trip or look unstable on your feet on your first public function with the Mellarks.” Says Cinna pulling a few boxes with shoes inside. They all look lovely and uncomfortable to me.

“All of the Mellarks are going to be there?” I ask as Cinna gestures for my foot, while bringing out a pair of golden sandals with a two inch elevation on the back. I haven’t given any thought to Peeta’s family and now my stomach is twisting unpleasantly.

“It’s one of the biggest events for the Mellarks this year, so yes, they will be there.” Says Cinna matter of fact. “Don’t you worry, Katniss. They will be perfectly pleasant tonight. I must warn you though, except for Peeta’s eldest brother and his wife, nobody in the Mellark clan has a very close relationship with family. I doubt you’ll see much of any of them unless for important events.”

“Oh. That’s… unfortunate?” I’m not sure how to feel. I’m only going along with this marriage to give my broken family their best chance for a better future, but if his family ties are as isolated as Cinna says, I’m not sure Peeta Mellark will be a very warm father figure to any children I’ll be commanded to give him.

Now I’m anxious, apprehensive and worried.

Cinna finishes strapping a pair of sensible sandals into my feet and smiles at my toes oblivious of my growing stress.

“There. Now, give us a few steps to make sure the footwear will work, and we can call Ms. Trinket in to escort you to your engagement party.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Peeta’s eyes caress my form from afar in a way I’ve never been stared at, I start feeling self conscious.

I can’t keep still, I keep fiddling with my dress; I run the tip of my fake nails over the vast beading of my gown, trying to count the bumps every time I hit one, but there are so many tiny crystals embroidered in the material I lose count every single time.

I’m mesmerized by my own outfit. Once I started walking I realized the light hit every crystal from a different angle, giving the illusion of flames licking at my body. If I twirl just smallest bit, my skirt fans out creating a bonfire effect. I’m not sure how Cinna managed it, but I look so curvy and well endowed in this dress, I can see how a man like Peeta Mellark would keep his eyes so intently trained on me… which also means, other men are staring as well, and the woman barely hide their dislike of me.

Everyone falls silent when I’m fully standing at the elevated stage in front of the room. Peeta puts the glass full of sparkling liquid on a nearby table and makes his way to the stage with sure, quick steps. His blue eyes shine even from far away, it’s making me nervous.

“Welcome, welcome!” Says the voice of Effie Trinket amplified by microphones. “It is my honor to present to you, Miss Katniss Everdeen, the future Mrs. Peeta Mellark.”

Applause rings through the enormous room and bile rushes up my throat. I try in vain to wipe the perspiration from my hands on my dress, but my palms just slide over the beads like a greased up piece of leather on smooth rocks.

“You look… radiant.” Whispers a deep, velvety voice in my ear, causing my skin to pebble.

I didn’t see him climb up the stage, but his warm, big hand hovers over the small of my back, wanting to claim and mark me as his.

I look at him startled. I’m surprised by the way his blue eyes roam all over my face, almost greedy. I’ve never been looked at this way before. My stomach bursts in nervous jitters.

I wish I could speak, say something, greet him. But I can’t even move the muscles of my face. My jaws is frozen shut.

“I’m so sorry.” Peeta apologizes taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He says lowly, dropping his hand from my back. “We still haven’t been officially introduced to each other, but I already think of you as mine… my wife, that is. I keep forgetting you are not as used to the idea as I am.”

He bows to me and kisses my knuckles, to an eruption of applause and cheers from the audience watching us. My brain is buzzing in confusion.

Effie stammers something in the background. I think she’s complaining that once again, the careful protocol she’s so fond of following has been blown to smithereens by Peeta Mellark, and there isn’t much she could do about it.

“I’m not much of a dancer, but will you take a spin with me on the dance floor for a bit? At least until people forget about us and center their attention on the food?” He asks hopeful, his eyes have mellowed down from the intense way they were devouring me.

I nod, mostly because the notion of people forgetting about me is almost as appealing as messing with Effie’s schedule. If I remember correctly, my first dance with Mr. Mellark was slated to come after the official signing of our contract and the exchange of rings and a toast.

Dancing right now means we’d been skipping a whole lot of awkward stuffiness I rather not go through in front of all this strange people.

“Okay,” I say with as much bravado as I can muster and give the man a smile I hope doesn’t look too forced.

Of course the soft, ambient music that has been playing idly in the background halts right away and there’s a moment of awkward silence in which everyone looks confused, and then some slow, if a bit contrived song starts playing, and everyone around us realizes Peeta Mellark and I are in the middle of the dance floor standing face to face. He takes one of my hands in his, and the other one lightly rests on my waist, we are still about ten inches apart, so my arms are completely extended between us, while only my fingers reach his broad shoulders.

I make the mistake of looking to the side, where a blinding flash of light goes off, and then I regret looking, because about a hundred other flashes explode right in front of my eyes making my vision spotty.

“Ugh! Ignore them,” Whispers Peeta  annoyedly, and before I can try to look up at him— still blinded by the flashes— he pulls me in, closer to him. “I asked for no pictures! Why are they even here?” He mutters angrily under his breath, but he’s looking down at me, smiling, the image is so incongruent with his words and tone I do a double take.

He spins around and looks at the cameras he’s unhappy to have besides him and flashes them a disarming smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I’m not familiar with the man at all, but I can see how giving fake smiles is second nature to him. I wonder how I’ll ever manage to survive this Capitol life?

Mr. Mellark turns to me and whispers, “I know this is intrusive, but I promise to get rid of them if you give them a small smile and pretend you’re having an extraordinary time dancing with me.”

“Oh, um… I… I’m enjoying myself, sir. Thank you.” I tell him, startled to be addressed and point blank told to fake enjoyment for the cameras.

He chuckles light, shaking his head ruefully. “Sure, Katniss. I bet you are having the time of your life.”

I give him a startled look but he just smiles down at me. For reasons I can’t comprehend, I feel my face warm up.

“I— I truly am enjoying this. Is better than what Miss Trinket had scheduled for us.” I squawk feeling silly.

Peeta Mellark laughs again, full and musical, I’m surprised at how handsome he looks. “That, I can believe!” He smiles. “Come, now. Give the nice paparazzi a smile so I can signal for them to be sent away.”

His tone is more pleading than demanding, so I try to comply, and give the cameramen a shy glance and small grin that barely curls my lips.

“Let’s see.” Says Peeta shuffling us around in a small circle. “Do you have many skunks back in Twelve?” He asks lightly.

I frown for a moment, wondering if he’s about to mock me or my district, but his eyes are trained on a point over my shoulder.

“We have some. I usually try to avoid them.” I say, which makes him chuckle a little.

“Okay, then you won’t have a problem answering this.” He looks me in the eyes, smiling. “How do you stop a skunk from smelling?”

“I… I’m not sure, sir.” I answer, puzzled. “I guess you can’t.”

His smile widens, “Easy! You hold their nose!”

I’m confused by his answer, the only thing I can do is stare at his grinning face, until it dawns on me... he’s trying to make a _joke_. Against my own judgment, my facial muscles give way to a smile.

“Alright, that was awful! I know, I know!” He takes a deep breath shaking his head, disturbing those blue tipped dark curls of his, and tries another question, “I hear your sister has a nanny goat?” I nod, giving him a suspicious glance. “How can you tell if your sister is pampering the goat too much?”

I narrow my eyes at him for a moment, “I don’t know, sir. You tell me…”

“It’ll give you spoiled milk!”

I actually let a small giggle out. The joke is horrendous, but the way he looks, so please and chuckling at his own bad joke, makes it funny.

“Hey, there’s a smile! We’re getting better at this! One more...” Again, he sets his face and tone, then and asks, “Why do bees have sticky hair?” His eyes are sparkling, and I feel relaxed for the first time since leaving home.

I shake my head, already smiling.

”Give up?” He asks enthusiastically. Boyishly.

 I nod. “I don’t know. Why _do_ bees have sticky hair?” 

“They use honeycombs!”

This time my rueful smile is so big, I’m showing teeth. “Sir, I doubt you should consider telling jokes for a living, but thank you for the laugh all the same.” I say truly grateful.

He nods in approval, and then lifts his index finger off my hand to gesture someone behind us. A few seconds later the incessant flashes stop, the cameramen are escorted elsewhere, and the atmosphere becomes less stark and intrusive.

“Katniss, can ask for a favor?” Peeta  Mellark asks studying my face after we dance a few minutes in silence.

“Of course, Mr. Mellark. I’ll try and do my best to help.” I say a bit guarded.

He gives me a sad smile then. “Can you call me Peeta? I know we don’t know each other yet, and all of this has to be strange for you, but I would love it if you called me by my given name. We will be married soon, you don’t have to be so formal. I would like us to be friends at least.”

I think about it for a while, and then decide I can try his request. He’s right about the marriage soon to come, and if we’re going to be sharing a bed and _other_ things, it’ll be silly of me to keep calling him ‘Mr. Mellark’ or ‘Sir’ all the time.

“I can try that.” I say. “Peeta.” I try the name once and feel how easy rolls off the tongue.

Mr. Mellark— Peeta— seems pleased.

“Thank you. I like it better this way. It puts us on the same level.” He says with a relieved sigh.

I have to disagree with that statement. We will never be on the same level. Never, ever! For all intents and purposes, Peeta Mellark owns me. He’s a rich man from the Capitol who picked me out from a catalogue and had me shipped here to marry him and carry his quota of One Panem mandated children. I’m nothing more than a means to an end in this contract, the only benefit I get out of this is that I’ll never have to worry about my family’s next meal or if their clothes will hold up the upcoming winter. Prim will have an education and much better chances than me at a good future. I’m willing to the pay the price for my sister’s wellness, no matter it’s costing me the one thing I’ve ever wanted for myself: to be left alone.

With that cheerful thought in mind, I’m back to feeling lousy, wishing I was anywhere but here.

Just when I start to think this night can’t get anymore stressing, a couple in their mid 40’s, early 50’s approach us in the dance floor. Peeta tenses, watching the couple get closer. They have on the most elaborate outfits I’ve ever seen, including the outlandish costumes one could see during the old replays of the Hunger Games. These people drip of wealth and Capitol snootiness.

“May we cut in?” Says the woman giving me a disdainful once over before staring past me at Peeta.

Although the words were posed as a question, she doesn’t wait for an answer and simply pushes me out of Peeta’s arms; her companion doesn’t lose time swooping in to take Peeta’s place as my partner. There’s a slight resemblance between him and a Peeta, just like the woman, but is not much to go for an accurate guess.

“Mother, Uncle Arcturus, my fiancée and I are getting acquainted as you can see,” Peeta is standing stock still, like he’s made of stone. “I will gladly come find you when the song is over, and mingle.” He steps away from the woman, who’s now glowering at him. If this is really Peeta’s mother, I’m scared to meet the rest of his family.

My mother has her issues, but she would’ve never look at me or Prim with such contempt.

“Introductions are in order, Nephew.” Says the man, Arcturus. He’s leering at me like I’m a piece of meat he can’t wait to sink his teeth in on. I hate how dirty his stare is making me feel.

Peeta practically yanks me away from his uncle, and tucks me so deep into his side, I’m virtually hidden behind his body.

“I said, I’ll come find, everyone, later!” He punctuates every word with a dash of venom.

It’s enough to send the two people a step or two away, but not fully let us be.

“If either of you dare to make a scene here, I swear you’ll have to wear your clothes of three seasons back for the rest of your life, unless you find jobs, because I will cut you off faster than I can drop a coin into the ground. Now, if you’d be so gracious and let me finish my very first waltz with my future wife, I will make sure your next party is the most talked about event of the month.”

“Of course! Anything for you, dear nephew. Come, come Lucretia. Let the kids enjoy their little time alone… young love!” The man sighs ridiculously and gives me another nauseating glance.

“Fine. But I expect being properly introduce to your… _bride_ soon.” The woman gives me another once over and steps away from us in what I can only describe as a shuffle.

“I’m sorry about that.” Peeta sounds chagrined. “I was hoping that part of the evening never came, to be honest.”

“Why?” I ask stupidly.

He smiles sweetly. “I don’t want to give you any other motives to second guess this marriage. You already have a plethora of reasons to be apprehensive as it is. For what is worth… I’m not like them.”

I’m not too convinced about it, but it’s not like I can change anything. “It’s okay, Sir—Peeta!” I correct myself, “Hopefully I can charm them with that joke about the bees and their honeycombs.”

He laughs weakly. “That would be adorable, but I really, truly hope you never have to spend any amount of time with my mother or uncle. So, I have another favor to ask…” he hesitates a moment, “Once we have to go meet my family officially… let me hold you. Even if it is just your hand. And please, don’t leave my side. They’re harmless, but I still don’t want them to corral you on your own. I don’t want to give them the chance to offend you, least of all tonight. Can you please do that for me?”

His eyes are so earnest, and his words have actually spooked me a bit, I don’t see the harm in staying glued to his side all night long either way, but it unnerves me how much he distrust his family. 

The song finally ends. I’m already dreading the rest of the night, when Effie descends on us with her tablet and stylus, yapping about breaking protocols and re-arranging the schedule. I just Hope midnight strikes soon, then this awful night will finally be over.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Apollo:** is the Greco-Roman god of light, knowledge, intellect, and the sun. Reason enough to choose him as Peeta’s middle name, that needed to be of Roman sound, since every Capitol character has a roman name in canon. 
> 
> So, here it is! As I promised freddyfreak1999, a story featuring Capitolite!Peeta. Sorry he still hasn’t made his first appearance yet, we will meet Peeta in the next chapter. I wanted to make it longer and fuller, but we were slapped with a broken water heater that rotted out my kitchen floor and caused tons of damage in the basement. If I didn’t post this story now as is, it would’ve sat another few weeks, and I hated keep you waiting Freddy. Hope this introduction is ok. 
> 
> Please leave comments below, or come chat on tumblr@alliswell21.


End file.
